(of) love, tales and possibilities
by pamy
Summary: Years ago on a Friday night in a badly lit bar Dean Winchester and Lisa Braeden met. She didn't know back then that one day he would become one of the most important persons of her life. Before Dean can claim his life however, before he shows up on her door with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he must first battle a lot of demons. Written for the Het Big Bang
1. Part 1

Written for the Het Big Bang. I've always wanted to write a Lisa/Dean story since they are my favorite couple. However despite having many AU ideas for them during or around season 6 my muse decided this story was much better. Also containts some Anna/Dean and some minor Jessica/Sam.A big thank you to deathmallow for having been my last minute a thank you to nanoks for having been the artist, will link to the beautiful artwork once this goes life. Also thanks to jesterlady for having made artwork for this story.

I obviously don't own Supernatural or the characters. If I did trust me it would not be that good of a show.

* * *

There are times Dean thinks about the aspect of storytelling; like _who _would take the time to tell their story and if there was anybody out there that cared about the story at all. Dean figures that nobody would care about the story – unless they _knew _the person whose story they were telling – and really nobody would bother to tell it, unless they were sure there was somebody that wanted to hear it.(And maybe there would be people interested in the story, Dean thinks, probably all those stupid and insane fans of Chuck's books. They would _want _to hear the story, he figures, or maybe they wouldn't, maybe they wouldn't care; it's bound to matter little since nobody is finding out anyway.)

The point really, if there is a point at all, is that with every telling the story will change, shift into something else. With every different narrator it would change even more, the perspective would be shifted, different things would be matter. What one narrator would consider to be the most important part of the story, the changing point or the moment to end it, might not mean anything to another at all.

And where, Dean wonders, would the story begin? Where would it end?

Chuck – the prophet, the writer, the annoying idiot who shared his story with the entire world _without _asking – began with that break-in, the day Dean want to Stanford to tell Sam their dad had gone missing. He ended the tale – despite their explicit demands for him to write no more and if he _ever _gets his hands on that stupid prophet he'll _kill _him or at least he'll make sure he won't write another word – with Sam falling into hell and Dean driving away from Bobby. Chuck isn't even telling this part of the story, he barely even acknowledged it, _he _didn't consider this important. After all to him, to the world, what happened _after _the apocalypse doesn't really matter, it never would, he supposes that's something that only matters to _him_ (and Lisa and Ben, he supposes, maybe Bobby and perhaps, on a good day, Castiel as well.) After all the original tale, the way the story was _meant _to go, the way the story was supposed to unfold – decided on millions of years ago by God and his angels who didn't care about the humans whose lives they'd be destroying – was with him and Sam saying yes and the fight would end with his brother's dead and the world's destruction, a happy ending all around. So really who would have ever cared what came _after _that? Nobody that's who.

Sam, were he to tell the tale – not that he could – would start with the day he left them to go to Stanford, a new beginning. Or maybe, maybe he wouldn't, maybe he'd consider that to be _another _story. Maybe he'd start with the moment Jessica died and tell it from there, or maybe he'd begin with his death and Dean's deal and really _who even cares. _

Sometimes, if he thinks about it, he considers the possibility that Cas would begin this story in hell, where he grabbed his soul and dragged him out. Or maybe he wouldn't, maybe he'd begin the story in that beautiful room where Dean convinced him to rebel, after all that sounds like the logical part for the story to begin. But mostly, mostly Dean thinks Cas wouldn't begin the story at all, wouldn't consider it to be a separate tale – him and hell and Sam and the apocalypse – just another chapter in his long life, an important chapter – of this he is sure – but just a _chapter. _

Lisa would begin with Ben, of this he is sure, _she _would begin their story not in the bar where they met but in the moment her beautiful little boy was placed in her arms. That would be the beginning to her, the most important factor. She'd remember him, of course she would, and he would always, always be a part of her story, but he would never be the focus. He thinks that logical, Ben is her son after all.

Dean, were he to tell anyone the story – not that he thinks anyone, besides maybe Bobby and Sam, would care – wouldn't start the story with her either, and for the longest part she wouldn't really be the focus. He supposes he doesn't actually have to tell most of the story, Chuck took care of that – and someday he's going to break his arms to make sure he never writes a word again – but maybe someday he'll want to (besides Lisa's part isn't acknowledged, the story starts _after _he met her and ends _before _he went back to her.) He would start in a random hotel, in a random town somewhere in America the name of which he can't recall – and he's sure, positive even, that he could find it somewhere in his father's notes but he can't be bothered to look it up – and it begins with a request, a begging almost, to allow him to go out into the world and spread his wings.

_That _is how the story begins.

At least for him.

* * *

It was supposed to be a _simple _ghost hunt.

All they had to do, really, was drive into town, find the right grave and torch the bones, it was that _simple. _There was no research involved at all, no need for anything but the torching – after all there had actually been another hunter there before them but he'd had to leave in the middle of the hunt for personal reasons Dean can't recall and in all honesty he probably never cared to know either – just in and out. He should have known really, should have realized that there was no way things could ever be that easy, no way the _Winchesters _would be allowed an easy hunt. Later, many, many years later, when he thinks about this hunt he'll come to the conclusion that it really wasn't that bad of a hunt, not really – there would be many worse hunts – and, in retrospect, it was actually one of the more simple hunts. After all, in the end, the only real problems they had was a slightly more vicious ghost that they thought it was and the fact that he twisted his ankle, but at the time it had seemed like the _end of the world. _

In truth he had been on the verge of exploding for weeks if not for months.

He's still not entirely sure when or why it began, or really what it was all about. Or actually he does know, somewhat, he's just never really spend any time analyzing it. He'd wanted to get away, he remembers this, be somewhere on his own, see the world, do things without his little brother tagging along or his father looking over his shoulder. It's not that he resented them, not at all, nor that he didn't want to spend time with them. It was just that he was 20 and he spend every waking moment with them and it was just getting to be too _much. _In reality it had been too much ever since he'd left high school and suddenly there was barely anyone else to talk too – and it's not like he didn't meet other interesting people, it's just that usually, with the exception of girls, when he met those people his brother or his dad or both were _always there. _It was just getting to be too much, too much pressure, too much of everything and he just wanted it to stop. He hadn't done anything about it – and really that was the problem he should have addressed the problem when it first arose but he was a teenager and he just didn't want to analyze his feelings, if he did it would turn out to be too much like a chick-flick moment. And the resentment, the anger and everything else he had been feeling had just been building up until he could no longer control it.

The ghost hunt and his twisted ankle were simply the last straw.

He _needed _to get away.

That's when he'd asked his father, in that motel room with an icepack on his ankle, if he could go out into the world on his own for once. He just needed a few days to get better, four days at the most, just a road trip, him on his own for once. His father hadn't answered, just looked at him for a few moments and then announced that they had another hunt for tomorrow but they would discuss this later. Dean had known, in that moment, that the matter was really dismissed for him and perhaps – if he hadn't spent months keeping his feelings inside – he would have just let it go. But the anger was burning and the resentment growing and he just _couldn't. _That night, in that random motel room in that small town with the 'easy' ghost had been the first time he had blown up at his father, the first – and really only time – that he had gone explicitly _against _his father's orders, which was definitely a novelty. It had shocked his father into silence – and later into a screaming match – and his brother had stared at him for hours after that but like he said he'd had _enough. _

The next day they'd driven to their next hunt – their original hunt – in silence.

Sometimes Dean thinks his father hoped he'd forget eventually, that screaming out all his emotions would be enough to let it go. But it wasn't, because they were still together and he still felt like he needed to get away. For the whole hunt – and the thing is he can't remember what hunt this was, mostly because he spend the entire hunt doing research because of his hurt ankle and probably because Sam thought it would be better if he and dad didn't spend time together until they'd calmed down and really _that _was bizarre. Mostly it was Sam and dad who had fights and he was the one trying to calm everybody down. It was almost like they'd somehow ended up in an alternate universe for a few days. He'd spend his day doing research and, once he was done finding all he needed to, he'd started researching trips and towns in the neighborhood and things he could visit that were just a day away. He'd thought about just leaving then, getting the keys to the impala and driving away and calling back after four days to ask where his father was. But really he was afraid, he was afraid of leaving his brother behind just to have something happen, he was afraid that his father would get so angry if he just left that he would never find them again, or never be allowed to be alone again (and if that happened all of this would eventually build up again.)

That night, while their father went off to do something – though Dean can't recall what it was – Sam had asked him where he wanted to go, if he had an actual destination in mind or if he just wanted to drive. And Dean had talked, he remembers this, he'd told Sam about the things he'd researched and the things he wanted to see, and the fact that what he really wanted was to get into the car, be alone and just _drive. _He didn't really care, he'd said, about where he'd end up, just as long as it was _somewhere. _Sam had told him he should do it, if it meant so much to him, that he should do something that made _him _happy for once. (Later, after Sam leaves for college, he wonders if he had been thinking about leaving in that moment, if it had been watching Dean drive away that had proven to him that there was a way to get what one wanted and still come back. And Dean had understood Sam when he wanted to go to Stanford, he'd supported him but there was a part that had been jealous because Dean hadn't expected Sam to come back but Sam had never considered that Dean might not want to come back. He'd just assumed that his big brother would drive away and come back after four days, the alternative hadn't even occurred to him. Or maybe it had and he just hadn't wanted to think about it.)

The next afternoon – after they returned from their second day of hunting – his father handed him the keys to the impala and told him to return in exactly four days.

To this day Dean has no idea what Sam said to his father to convince him.

(And he wonders if his father thought about this at all while he was having his fight with Sam over Stanford and he wonders if Sam's words – whatever they were – resonated in his head. He thinks his father would have let Sam go if he'd just wanted some freedom and a trip after all he'd let Dean go. But Sam wanted so much more and Dean never told him – though he's not sure if that means he never knew – that he too had wanted so much more. But he'd had a brother to take care of and a father who needed him and a demon to hunt.)

He'd taken the keys and hugged his brother goodbye and left before his father changed his mind.

His brother had laughed and asked for a souvenir – _anything _he'd said, just as long as you bought it on your trip – and he'd waved and said 'I'll see you on Monday.' (Dean had never had the heart to tell him that he'd considered, thought, about never coming back, about just driving away and not turning around. About doing something else even though it meant letting go of avenging his mother - and there is a part of him that wonders if his mother would want him to let go, that she might want him to simply be _happy.)_

He'd driven away then that Thursday afternoon, the radio blasting, the windows down, on the hottest day – well probably not the _hottest_ but he has kind of always remembered it this way – of August.

He'd been happy, he'd been free.

That Friday he'd just driven around and savored the feeling of being somewhere without having to hunt anything. He hadn't really seen anything important but that hadn't been the point not really. The point had been to be somewhere else, to have fun, to have freedom.

That Friday he'd gone to a bar and he'd met Lisa.

That is where t_heir _story begins (even though it had already started.)

* * *

Lisa remembers very clearly the night it all began, _their _story, she remembers it all.

She met him in the old bar she used to frequent in that time with her girlfriends – back when the only thing that really mattered was yoga and boys, bad boys. It was an old bar that had been there _forever _– and it's still there, she drove past it once and it was there, just as old and battered as it was back then, exactly the same, though she didn't enter. It would never be considered a beautiful place –actually it was pretty much a dump – and she can't quite remember why she ever decided to start going to a bar like that in the first place.

(Actually she c_an _but she doesn't like to think about it, the first time she entered she was younger – too young not that anybody cared to find out – and she'd had a boyfriend who cheated on her with _three _different girls, one of them her best friend, and then had the balls to blame _her _when she confronted him about it. He'd hit her too, in his anger, though only once and she never saw him again after that. )

Despite that unfortunate incident – that she never thinks about and definitely never talks about it – she kept frequenting the bar and though it never would be her favorite place in the world she liked it enough. (That and the boys with leather jackets and bikes and a bad boy attitude.) In the beginning, she thinks, it was probably just payback, a way to show him – Steven his name was – that she didn't need him but she kept going even after he stopped frequenting the bar. The bar itself wasn't very big and it definitely wasn't well-lit and the bar stools were so old Lisa swore that one day they'd break under her but despite all that there was something about it that just kept drawing her in.

Perhaps it was the boys (probably.)

The first time she saw him was on a Friday night and he was playing pool at the old pool table – the table that seems even older then the damn bar stools – his jacket hung over a chair behind him. He seemed _calm _and _free_, like he didn't have a car in the world, like playing pool – and winning, he was definitely winning - with some random guys in badly lit bar was all he wanted from life. And who knows maybe it really was. The other guy – and his friend – didn't seem to be too happy about the fact that they were losing and briefly she wonders how much money they bet, not that it matters. He was good-looking – alright _hot –_ and he definitely seemed like her kind of guy and she spend a while watching them, contemplating whether she should walk over or wait until he saw her and came over to her. He turned then, suddenly, and caught her looking at him and maybe, maybe she should have turned away, it might have been the smart thing to do. But she didn't – and she's really glad she didn't – and she might have turned red, not that anyone would notice at least those damn lights would be good for something, and he'd smiled at her – and really t_hat damn smile _was all it took – and he'd help up his glass and she couldn't help but smile back.

He'd gone back to his game but really she had expected nothing else – she suspected there was money involved – and she'd watched as he won the game and collected his winnings.

And really a part of her had expected him to come to _her _and buy her a drink and then take her out but he didn't. He stayed where he was, which she thinks was somewhat logical because he did seem to be playing pool to win money and if he left he forfeited his place, but still. He did however move his jacket of his chair and threw it on the pool table and he clearly did it to tell her she could come if she wanted to like he knew that she would and of course he was right. She'd ordered another drink first however – she could make him wait a little – and then she walked over. He looked kind up close, still the bad boy type but the one who treated you right – who laughed and who backed off when you said no and who drove you home and bough you dinner. He was her kind of man, scars, leather jacket maybe a bike but she sensed he was the kind of guy that would never hurt her.

"Hey, you play pool?"

"Not really, never saw the point. I'd really rather bet my money on something I can control."

"There's no need to bed money, we could just play."

"Truthfully I've never really learned."

"I could teach you."

Up close his smile was even more overpowering then it was from across the room.

"I'm Lisa."

"Nice to meet you Lisa. I'm Dean."

* * *

The first time he kisses her they're outside standing next to his car.

Truthfully he hadn't intended to meet her; he hadn't intended to meet anyone – though he'd considered the possibility of hooking up with a random girl but she wasn't random – but the moment he saw her he knew she was different. There was something about her, something that drew him to her and he thought – briefly – that she was the kind of girl he could spend the rest of his life with. (You know in another world where he wasn't a hunter and expected back home on Monday. Or maybe in a world where he decides to stay here and never return, not that he's actually going to do that because he pretty much knows he has to go back – his brother needs him – but it's nice to consider it for a second.) She gets in his car and really he thinks she might have always belonged there.

Here's a truth: once he walks through her door he knows his trip is over.

He's not seeing anything else, he's not driving away but he doesn't need to. He's calmer know, he has his freedom and the only thing he thinks he lacked before this was _her. _Her house was small, simple, but beautifully decorated. There was yoga stuff everywhere – and he remembers her telling him she was a yoga instructor and though he's never been interested in that sort of thing for her he will be. (As it turns out later yoga makes a person incredibly flexible which makes his weekend that much better.)

Her sheets are blue, not that he really notices, and it is the best night of his life.

He's glad he'd turned left because though he hasn't known her for long he finds it strange he hasn't known her forever.

Which is probably a very chick-flick moment.

* * *

Somehow, and she's not entirely sure how, he'd found everything he needed in the kitchen to make her a wonderful breakfast in bed.

(He'd asked first though if he could use her kitchen and she kind of loved him for it – not love love but you know just love – that he was considerate enough to ask her.)

"Morning. Where did you learn to cook?"

"Well you should really be advised my cooking skills are limited to breakfast and take-out."

"Seriously."

"I am being serious, I've been making breakfast for my little brother for as long as I can remember and eating in diners and ordering pizza for the rest of the meals. "

"You have a brother?"

"Yes Sam. You?"

"Sister. Joyce."

"So when are you expected back home?"

"Ah so you did listen to me when I told you I was on a trip."

"Yes."

"On Monday afternoon. Although I did promise my brother I'd get him something and I should a picture somewhere vaguely recognizable."

"Leaving me already?"

"Not unless you're kicking me out, I'd like to stay here for a while. I was hoping you'd help me."

"Good and I will. But not now. Later."

She leans up to kiss him and pulls him back down on top of her.

* * *

That afternoon they run around all crazy through the town she grew up in.

People they met, people they past, must have thought they were crazy or crazy in love. For the record, for the story, for the world, he wasn't _in _love in that moment. He liked her, definitely, and he might have loved her just a little and he could imagine a future with her (and he considered actually staying he won't deny that part.) But he doesn't think he was really in love yet, that would have taken more time. But she was fun and she liked to laugh and she had a million stories to tell (and she was damn flexible, must be all that yoga.) He could imagine the whole future with her, a whole life (and he never tells his brother, or his father, but he thought then that he could have gotten his GED and maybe studied something in college and perhaps gotten married and everything else. Later, when his brother leaves for Stanford, he'll think about this and wonder why he didn't just do it. But by then time had passed and he thinks Lisa had probably forgotten about him by then and he couldn't just leave his dad. But that was later. In this moment, with Lisa by his side and have their picture taken in crazy poses, he'd just considered it.)

He can't even remember what he bought Sam but he knows his brother kept it whatever the hell it was.

He'd shown him one of the pictures Lisa had taken of him.

(The others were somewhere in his duffel bag with all his other personal effects.)

There was a picture of him and Lisa together by a fountain laughing though he can't remember at what and another of them kissing by that same fountain that he kept in his wallet. He never told his father about her, hell he barely told his brother what he did that weekend – his father seemed intent on forgetting it and Sam had been busy with other things like the beginning of a new school year. Sometimes he wishes he had told his father just so that he'd known that Dean had actually found somebody he could be happy with.

He wonders what the man would have done with that information.

He's not sure what he's doing with it.

Before he left he'd considered leaving her his number but decided against it. He was a hunter that was who his father needed him to be; the chances of seeing her again were slim. He didn't want to keep her hopes up.

Still no matter what happened in the future he'd remember that weekend as one of the happiest in his life.

* * *

Monday came too soon.

The best weekend of her life with _the _Dean, that's how she'll later tell the story. This is what she doesn't tell them, the feeling of sort of falling in love. The idea of trying to convince him to stay but not doing it because she was afraid he didn't want to stay (and besides the way he talked about his brother she figured he probably would want to go back to him.) The feeling of missing something later and after this she'd only gone back to the bar once and met another guy (which is why she's not sure who Ben's father is.)

She thought about asking for his number but decided against it.

She did however give him hers – wrote it one the back of one of the pictures they printed out – maybe someday he'd call her or visit her. Maybe one day he'd show up at her door again and she'd smile and they'd be happy together.

She'd watched him leave quite suddenly and she'd smiled.

(It had hurt a little and she'd wished he'd stayed longer. That is the part she doesn't really tell her friends.)


	2. Part 2

The thing about people, most of them at least – and Dean learns this quite quickly – is that they don't actually want to _know _the full story, the whole truth.

Take those extremely annoying fans of Chuck's books for instance. They might have loved the story Chuck presented to them – a bit _too _much if you ask him, seriously he doesn't think he's ever going to be able to forget about Becky or that stupid fan convention – but that was mostly because they'd known, or at least believed, it was nothing but fiction. They didn't want to know that the books they read for pleasure and laughs were the truth, that there was actually a world out there filled with demons and angels; they don't want to know that those two brothers that went through hell and back actually _exist. _What they want is to reads those books and continue to be simple fans and ignore the signs that those books might be telling a true tale and truthfully Dean can't exactly _blame _them.

It was the same with his brother and his father.

They were, of course, glad he was back, glad he'd had fun on his journey but that was all they really wanted (needed) to know. His father didn't even ask him anything, he never even truly acknowledged that weekend ever happened and truthfully Dean preferred to skid around the subject as well. It was, after all, far easier to just pretend it had never happened, to forget about their disagreement and move on, back to the life they had before that. He thinks it's for the best; it's definitely the easiest course of action but it's probably not exactly healthy. He's afraid too because this entire thing began because he didn't talk about how he was feeling and eventually it just got to be too much and he's afraid that if they're not careful he'll end up there again. He doesn't want that, even though that moment brought him to Lisa, because he's not so sure that the next time his father will be so understanding and he's not sure if he ever drives away again that he'll ever come back, not even for Sammy. But they don't talk about it, they don't talk about anything really – seriously Dean can't tell how many times he's tried talking about his mom with his dad but he can tell he got shot down every single time – just continue to exist in silence.

His brother on the other hand _does _ask.

But even he doesn't really want to know the full story, even if he hasn't imagined what that story is. He wants to know where Dean went and what he did and perhaps, if he's honest with himself, he might have even liked to know about Lisa. He doesn't, however, want to hear about the rest, he doesn't want to know that Dean imagined a future with Lisa – or maybe he would want to know that, after all a normal life was what Sam had always wanted, the part he doesn't want to know, Dean figures, is that Dean considered _not _coming back. That he considered, imagined, a future where he stayed with Lisa and never returned. He doesn't tell Sammy because he doesn't want him to think he'd abandon him, though in truth Sammy was the reason he actually came back. It's not that he was _in _love with Lisa, but he did like her a lot and he knew, that given time, he could have loved her completely, he could have been happy there.

With the white picket fence, the kids, perhaps his GED and maybe even something more.

Sam would have understood _that_ but as Dean learned he never considered that that was something Dean might want to have. He didn't even think of the possibility that his older brother might not want to come back – and later he doesn't consider his older brother might want to leave _with _him. So he doesn't tell Sam the truth either, he tells him everything except about Lisa and he keeps her to himself like a talisman, like something that would protect him even during the darkest times.

People don't really want to know everything his family, in the end, was no exception.

Or at least that's what he believed.

Who knows maybe they would have liked to know, even if it didn't seem like it, maybe his father would have liked to know that his son was happy, perhaps that had been important to him. And his little brother might have been hurt by the fact his brother considered not coming back but considering how important a normal life was too him that might not have mattered to him. Later, years and years later when he thinks back on his life and finally sees and accepts everything, he'll realize that that might be why his brother never asked him to come with him when he ran off to Stanford. Because he didn't know that Dean too wanted a normal life, because he didn't know Dean had considered it once upon a time and as such he did not realize Dean would have liked to have gone with him.

He supposes that doesn't matter, not really, it's all in the past by then anyway.

* * *

The breakdown of their team – something that, in retrospect, Dean _should _have seen coming for a really long time and, if he's completely honest _he _probably set it in motion – began on yet another cemetery in a random town the name of which he can't recall.

He feels he _should _be able to recall the name after all that town was the beginning of the end, the moment the relationship between his brother and his father – which had been shaky for years – finally began to deteriorate. But he _can't, _mostly, he thinks, because at that moment it seemed like just another simple fight, like the millions there had been before that. But it wasn't, though he didn't know that, eventually he'd be able to trace the end to that town. But then it had been just another town with a vengeful spirit and just another hunt, nothing more.

(Dean is starting to think that it might be better for them not to go hunting for ghosts in cemeteries especially if the hunt originally isn't theirs. Because when they go on a hunt as a favor to another hunter that for some reason or another can't continue the hunt, things always end badly for them. One of them gets hurt, always, and there's always a fight and it always ends, even if it's months later, by one of them leaving, permanently or not. So really they should just _stop.)_

It – the beginning of the Sammy wants to go to Stanford story – began in that town with the ghost of a murdered teenager who wanted revenge for the wrongs done against him. And the thing about vengeful spirits is that they always had a reason for being who they were now and there were times Dean could understand them and sometimes a part of him wanted to let them get their revenge. Like the poor teenager brutally murdered for no apparent reason by a man who managed not only to get away with it but convince an entire town he is a _saint. _The hunter that came before them – named Scott a man he never actually saw again – had to leave his hunt because he got so angry at the supposed saint that he beat him half-dead and well the cops weren't very pleased with that. And Dean could understand Scott, he _could_, because when he finally found out the full story and met the other man _he _wanted to kill him, or at least allow the spirit to do so. But sadly his father did not agree and Dean wasn't about to start an argument for nothing, what he would do was find some way to convince those stupid small-town cops that the 'saint' had murdered the kid and get him send to jail (though how he was supposed to accomplish this he hadn't figured out yet.)

In the end his brother ended up in the hospital with a broken leg, which can't have improved his temper, and – after making sure his brother was alright – he had gone off to make sure the police finally figured it out.

As it turned out not the best plan.

He's still not sure what exactly happened, he'd been gone when it started after all, all he knew was that by the time he made it back to the motel room the fight had already escalated. Sam was sitting on the bed and his father stood not too far from them both so caught up in their argument that they didn't even notice he'd come in. In fact they didn't realize he was there until he'd asked what was going on and by then he'd already been there for about ten minutes. And the truth was it wasn't the first argument, it wasn't even the worst argument, but even back then Dean had realized there was something different about it. He thinks, in retrospect, that it was something in Sam's eyes, a determination for something that Dean hadn't understood back then – but he suspects it's that moment that Sam decided that no matter what he was going to college and he was getting out. His father had said nothing just left the room after telling him to take care of his brother and Sammy to seemed reluctant at that moment to talk about it. Perhaps he should have started the conversation, perhaps his insistence in not acknowledging the fight was what made Sammy think he agreed with his dad but the thing was Dean didn't know how to approach the subject. Instead he'd just gotten them dinner and they'd watched TV and for the longest time it had seemed like just another evening.

(He thinks that his attempt at making his brother feel better by giving him a normal evening had made him think he wouldn't help him with Stanford which was why he didn't tell him when he started looking at colleges.)

Like the last time his father had apparently decided that ignoring the fight was the best policy.

Like with him he was w_rong. _

About three months later in yet another motel – though it was in a town they'd been living in for two months and, thanks to his interference, his father had agreed that allowing Sam to finish his senior year in one school wasn't that much of a sacrifice and indeed a very nice thing to do – Deanfound the form. It was a permission slip that needed to be signed so that Sammy could go to a college fair. This is the truth: Dean had never actually considered that his brother might want to go to college, it's not that he didn't want to go to college or that he did not think his brother could do it – in fact he was s_ure _his brother was brilliant enough – it's just that the thought had never actually acured to him. But once he saw the paper he realized that of course his brother would want to go and why should he not be allowed to go? So he'd signed it – he was old enough after all and besides he'd been forging his father's signature for _years _– and put the permission slip back where he'd found it.

Sammy never said anything about it but he knew it had been him after all their father would have never just signed it without a word.

That Saturday – while their father was still off on one of his solo hunts and Dean had been left to babysit Sammy, not that Sammy needed it anymore – he'd found him reading pamphlets for various colleges. And the thing is he _could _have told his father, he could have told Sam it was a stupid dream, he could have pointed out that as long the demon that killed their mother was out there their father wouldn't let him go but he didn't. Because Sam looked so happy, so filled with hope and Dean couldn't help but think why not? If he did get in he might still be able to help them with research and stuff and even if he didn't it wasn't _forever. _So he'd sat beside him and asked him what he needed to get into college where he wanted to go and what he wanted to study.

He also promised to help him and just like that he'd help start the chain of events that ended with Sam leaving.

(He hadn't known, then, that when Sam left for Stanford he'd be losing him. He'd assumed that even if he went to college they'd still be brothers, they'd still be a family and Sammy would still be there for him, just a phone call away. He'd been wrong, but he hadn't known that then.)

* * *

Lisa found out she was pregnant on a Wednesday.

She'd been feeling ill for a while but she'd avoided going to the doctor because she just had so much to do. Between her job and her best friend breaking up with her boyfriend of three years and her sister moving across the country there was just no time. She'd thought, back when she first started feeling ill, that it might have been just nerves or something, but of course it wasn't. She'd been shocked when the doctor told her, really she hadn't been expecting it, but she was happy at the same time. The thing is she hadn't thought about having children yet or more precisely she hadn't thought about having children _yet_, she'd thought perhaps sometime in a far future when she'd found a man she could be happy with that then maybe she would have kids. (And what she didn't tell anyone, even when they asked, was who she'd imagine in that moment. She'd always hoped that Dean would come back and that perhaps someday when they were older and wiser they could build a home.)

But there was nothing too it she was pregnant so she was having a child now.

She'd known, from the moment she'd discovered she was pregnant, that her whole life would be different from now on, even before her sister told her (and insisted on repeating it every time they talked to each other which was at the very least once a week, though usually much more.) There would be no more partying nor late nights at the bar, no more bad boys to take home. It was time to grow up, her sister told, grow up and become responsible because now she was going to be a mother and that boy or girl – she'd decided she didn't want to know what she was having until she gave birth – deserved the best mother in the world. She also insisted that Lisa should try to find the father because he too should be responsible and even if he didn't want to help they could _make _him. But she didn't want to make anyone pay for a child they might not want, she didn't want someone to be forced to be a part of their lives because she suspected that it would probably end in tears.

It could be Dean, which she hoped for, but it could also, sadly, be Tommy.

She hoped that, if she chose and actually _could _find out that it would turn out that Dean was the father. Mostly because he was kind and he'd treated her, and others, with respect. Also, of course, because she'd imagined a future with him and she still did. But there was also the fact that Tommy hadn't exactly been her best choice, he'd been as unkind to her as he could get away with, she'd secretly been glad when she'd finally seen the end of him. But Dean, Dean was the kind of man she could imagine building a future with and, despite the little she knew about him, he seemed like the kind of man that, were he to discover he'd impregnated her, wouldn't run from his responsibilities. He would be a good father and if she was sure he was the father then she might have told her sister that she would gladly have her search for him, but she wasn't sure and that was the real problem. That and of course the fact that she would be surprised if she knew enough about him to contact him. She knew his name and his brothers and that they moved from town to town because of his father's job and another million little things, none of which would have helped her find him.

He had her number but he hadn't called her and though she'd wished he'd call her she hadn't really been expecting it.

But she still hoped somewhat.

It didn't matter whether he'd call her, she thought, it didn't even matter if he ever came back. She could imagine that if he did that he would love them and they'd be happy but if he didn't they'd be happy too. She wouldn't try to find out if Tommy was the father even if he was she wanted him nowhere near her or her child and she suspected he wouldn't want to be near them either. She would hope instead that it was Dean, that her child would look somewhat like him and grow up to be like him: kind and interesting and respectful to everyone around him. The moment they placed her little boy, Ben, in her arms the whole world changed for her and she'd realized that her life was perfect with just her son, she didn't need anyone else. (It did not mean that she wouldn't want anyone else to come by, it didn't mean she stopped wishing that Dean would come back. It just meant that all she truly _needed _was Ben.)

It was the happiest and most important moment of her life.

Ben was perfect.

Nothing would ever change that.

* * *

It's strange how easy ones live can change.

One moment you could have your whole future worked out or at least you could imagine the way you wanted your future to be. And then one day something happened that changed everything, that turned your entire life upside down and suddenly that future you'd imagined became something else. Sometimes these changes were bad things, like the dead of a loved one, but there were also good changes, changes one hadn't really imagined but that would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened. Like meeting the man of your dreams or moving to a new neighborhood or perhaps even getting a new job.

For Lisa it was the birth of her son.

It wasn't easy being a single mother and though she knew there were some people that whispered about her behind her back she'd ignored them. They didn't know anything about her, they didn't know the story and as such Lisa felt they didn't have the right to judge her. But she also knew that they would and that there was nothing she could really do about it, so she'd ignored them. Her sister – even though she still believed that Lisa should try to find out who Ben's father was and have him help her – had told her to just move to her neighborhood so she could help her but Lisa had, respectfully of course, declined. It wasn't that she didn't want her life or that she didn't want her to be a part of Ben's life, it was just that Lisa felt she should do this on her own.

Ben was the best thing to ever happen to her, even if at times he made her crazy_._

She still wished sometimes that Dean would come back, it wasn't something that was on her mind constantly and she wasn't searching for him, it was just a hope. A hope that someday there would be a knock on her door and Dean would be standing there and he'd stay and they'd be happy and in love, and he would love and care for Ben as if he was his son and their future would be marvelous.

But if he didn't she'd be alright to.

* * *

_After _it was over –one of the worst moments of his life, not as bad as his mother's dead but definitely up there – Dean sat on his bed in their hotel room, his elbows on his knees and his head in his arms.

He could still hear it all, as if it was happening right _now_: the screaming, the pushing, the anger, the resentment, the slamming of the door following the chilling 'If you walk out that door don't you ever come back.' He hadn't expected his father to say something like that and, at least if the look on his face was anything to go by, neither did his brother. After the door slammed he'd just stood there unable to move, it took a few minutes before he moved and by then his father had already moved across the room to his stuff and started packing. He refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge his oldest son or go after his youngest and Dean wanted to scream at him, shake him and ask him why he would ever say something like _that. _But Sam was leaving and he was so angry and Dean didn't know when he would ever see him again – and maybe he never would, his father was really angry this time – and so he'd run after him and insisted on driving him to the bus stop. They'd been silent on their way the bus stop, Sam was still angry and Dean hadn't known what to say to make him feel better. His father words, after all, still echoed in his head, and if they still echoed in _his _they definitely still echoed in Sam's.

This is not how he imagined saying goodbye to his little brother.

And he _had _imagined it ever since his brother told him he got into Stanford with a full ride – something of which Dean was incredibly proud even if he didn't exactly tell his little brother – but somehow in his imagination they'd always been happier. Perhaps this was all his fault, perhaps he should have insisted more that Sam tell their father when he found out he'd been accepted to Stanford. But Sam had been insistent, so sure that their father would never let him go if he found out then and telling him they needed to wait for the right moment and Dean had conceded. And now here they were, walking to a bus stop in an old town while their father packed his stuff in the hotel room they'd just abandoned. Somehow his dream of still having Sam and still being a family was gone and Dean was sure that if his brother got on that bus he might never see him again, that they would drift apart; that his father would never forgive him but stopping him wasn't a real option.

"You know, Sammy, this isn't how I wanted to say goodbye to you."

"I know, neither did I."

Dean thinks that the fact that Sam, who had been insistent for the last few years that he no longer use that nickname, never said anything about his use of Sammy spoke to the importance of the moment. Maybe he too felt that it was an end of something, maybe he too felt like they wouldn't see each other for a very long time.

"Listen Sam I got you something, for Stanford you know, I spend all of last year saving up for it and I finally got enough money for it last week. I was planning on giving it to you somewhere else but well I suppose here would do."

"A laptop? You got me laptop? Seriously, Dean I can't take this it must have cost a fortune."

"It's fine Sammy, I saved up for it, you're going to need it when you're at Stanford, I'm not taking no for an answer. And here, this is all the money I have left, I'm not sure how long it will last, maybe a few weeks, but it's something at least right?"

"Thank you Dean."

"Alright, keep in touch, do great in school and have fun."

"Be careful Dean."

"Always."

Sam had boarded the bus then and it had driven away and he'd stood there alone, at the side of the road, watching as the bus carrying his little brother disappeared into the distance. He's not sure how long he stood there but by the time he moved the bus had long since disappeared and the world around him had darkened completely. The motel room had been deserted when he got there, his father's packed bag lay on his bed but the man himself was not around. For a second Dean wondered if perhaps he had gone to the bus stop to apologize to Sam and say goodbye to him but then he saw the note laying on what was his bed '_Gone to bar, will be back later.'_ He'd considered, for about a second, going to the bar as well because the thought of getting drunk and forgetting himself for just a moment was so tempting but the truth was, no matter how tempting, he didn't want to be near his father right now. He suspected that if he would go he'd be so angry that there would a new fight and then he would be all alone.

Instead he'd sank down on the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head buried in his hands.

This is what he never told Sam: how abandoned and alone he'd felt in that moment. It wasn't that he wasn't happy his brother got into Stanford or that he didn't think that Sam deserved. But he was alone now, left alone with a quest for vengeance that he understood but that he no longer truly thought would be a good thing and a father who was so angry Dean wasn't sure what he would do. And the biggest truth of all: he was angry, at his father for throwing his brother out and at his brother for leaving like that, for getting angry instead of staying calm and talking about it. For leaving him asl well as their father, for not considering – not even for a moment – that Dean might want to go with him, that he too might want to leave this life behind.

He'd wanted to go with Sam, wanted to have a different life but Sam hadn't asked and Dean hadn't known how to offer.

He's not sure when his father came back but when he did he said nothing.

John Winchester had decided it would be easier to pretend nothing had ever happened.

(And Dean hated him a little for that and for saying those words to Sam.)

* * *

The first year Sam was in Stanford he visited him three times.

Once for Christmas and he'd insisted on that, no matter how angry his father was, he insisted on going and his father had consented though he himself had not gone to Sam's apartment. His brother had been happy to see him then, still angry at their father but happy to see him nonetheless. He told him millions of stories and Dean had listened, so happy to see his brother so full of live and for a while it had seemed like their lives were still somewhat the same. But of course they weren't and the next day he'd left and he hadn't seen him until about two months later when, by change really, they'd passed near Stanford and he'd gone by to see him and the last time had been when he went by on Sammy's birthday.

But that was the first year and Dean had learned a long time ago that things never stayed the same.

Especially not the good and happy things.

And then slowly it began to change, so slowly in fact that he did not realize it had changed until a whole year had passed and by then, he felt, it was far too late to change anything. It's not Sam's fault, or at least it's not all Sam's fault, yes he started to call him less but it's not like he called his little brother every day (he's not even sure if by the end of the year he called him once a week.) Because Sam had school and so much to do and it's not like Dean himself had all the time in the world. And then he couldn't come by for Christmas and Sam had other plans for his birthday and just like that the year was gone.

And then Sammy forgot his birthday.

He'd been so used to the fact that Sam called him first thing in the morning – in fact that first year he thought it would be funny to call him a minute past midnight just to mess with him – that when he didn't call that year Dean had been so sure something had happened to him. And, since his father was off on another hunt – and that too hurt but at least he was used to his father not being around on his birthday – he'd gone to Stanford, as fast as he could – it's a miracle he didn't get into a car accident honestly – because he'd been so sure Sammy was in trouble. He'd run across the campus and then he'd stopped, suddenly because Sammy, Sammy was just _fine. _He was sitting among people Dean considered where his friends, his arms around a beautiful young girl – Jessica he would learn later, much later – and he was happy and he had a good life. He hadn't called because he'd forgotten; his life now was so great that he could forget his big brother's birthday because it no longer mattered to him.

He _could _have gone over but that would have just ruined that beautiful scene.

He'd just left, gone back to the world he came from.

He was no longer a part of his brother's.

The next day Sammy had called, first thing in the morning, all remorse and guilt and with a million of apologies and promises of more calls and visits. Dean could practically feel how guilty he felt and he could have said something about it, could have insisted they'd meet up but instead he'd just let it slide, told his little brother it was alright. But it really wasn't and, about three weeks later, they'd had a fight so bad that Sam just stopped calling him all together (not that he called so much before.) He'd still called on Sam's birthday but the rest was just forgotten. He still went by Stanford occasionally, worried about his little brother as he was and he'd watched him with that girl. They'd looked so happy, so free and so filled with life that even though he could have gone over and made amends with his brother it just felt like h would be intruding.

Instead, from the night of his birthday, he'd been alone.

(Because this is the part he didn't tell Sam: their father didn't stick around. For all his words, for all his saying that they needed to stay together one day he'd just left. Dean had come home one day to find the motel room empty and instead of his father there'd been a note saying that he had gone off to a hunt and Dean should go to another one and they'd meet up later. And later did happen, occasionally, but his father always had two of more hunts that they needed to go on and just like that that family, that team of three they had became a team of one. He didn't tell Sam that when he showed up and said Dad left on a hunting trip and I haven't seen him in a few days he'd actually meant dad left on a hunting trip and he hasn't called in a few days. But that would have been too painful and Sam would have felt guilty so he hadn't said anything, opted instead for silence.)

When he saw them, the blonde girl and his brother, he'd considered briefly, going to Lisa because if his brother could be happy there was no reason he couldn't be. But his father had looked so alone that he could not bear to leave him and later, when his father left him, he'd felt it was far too late.


	3. Part 3

Sometimes things happen in life that changes the path you were destined to go down.

Or you know the one you were going to follow.

It changes it so much, if fact, that after a while, no matter how much you might want to, there was simply no way left to change your life or go down a different path. For him it had all changed years ago, when he was only four years old, when his mother had died and their home had burned down. And perhaps if his father had made a different choice, if his father had decided to go down a different path, Dean might still have been able to claim the life his mother had dreamed up for him. But that hadn't happened and now, so many years ago, it was too late really to change the live he was living. And now, no matter how much he might wish to change it, it was his brother's turn. With Jessica killed by the same demon and their home burning down and now his brother was choosing to go down the path his father had chosen for him so long ago but he'd attempted to outrun.

Perhaps that was, really, why Dean had never gone back to Lisa.

Because it seemed to be impossible to outrun the demons and the live of a hunter.

Sometimes Dean wonders if things might have been different if they hadn't grown so far apart, if he hadn't gone to get Sam that night and left Jessica alone and undefended or if he'd simply never allowed Sam to leave in the first place. But truthfully he doesn't think it would have been that different, he doesn't think it would have changed an awful lot. Sam would have gone to Stanford whether Dean let him or not and he thinks that whether Sam had stayed in the apartment or not Jessica would have still died. Because Azazal – and the other demons and the bloody angels – wanted him out there in the world where they could corrupt him, where they could use him to achieve their ends.

It doesn't matter.

Jessica died, just like their mother, and Sam's path seemed set in stone.

Nothing could really change that, not anymore.

* * *

Alright going into that warehouse on his own was a _terrible_ idea.

Whatever happened in the warehouse – and for the life of him Dean could not remember it – it did not explain how it was even possible he had ended up in this, admittedly beautiful, apartment. His first thought was that some demon had done this to him but he could not understand what the point behind it all was and so he'd called Sam only to find his little brother had no idea what he was talking about. He'd thought of running then, of leaving and finding that warehouse and his brother and discovering what had happened but he'd been taken aback by the fact that he could just leave. It didn't seem like the sort of place a demon would send him too to keep him prisoner but it seemed even stranger that that demon, whoever he was, would just allow him to leave.

And then he'd heard Lisa's voice.

He hadn't heard it in years but he recognized it instantly – he would never be able to forget it after all – and there she was just as beautiful as he remembered her. He had no idea what she was doing here, no idea what was going on, but somehow it involved Lisa and not Sammy. For a moment he was speechless but then he decided that whatever this was it surely could not be Lisa's fault so he mumbled something about a terrible dream and Lisa had offered to make him breakfast and disappeared in the kitchen. He'd looked around the apartment – which seemed like his and that seemed strange, apart from the fact he couldn't remember living here of course, because whenever he'd imagined life with Lisa he'd somehow always imagined it would be in her house. But whatever else the apartment did seem like it was theirs, stuff thrown around, pictures of the both of them on the dressers, a picture of his brother and Jessica and a picture of his _mother with Sam on his graduation. _It was that picture that made his heart stop and he realized suddenly that whatever this world was it must be better, or real, because his mother was real.

He'd said something about needing to go and sorry about breakfast and then he'd made his way across town.

He was in Lawrence, he was back home.

And so was his mother.

She hadn't died, there hadn't been a fire and there were no demons and life was safe. Maybe it had all been a dream – that other world that is – with the demons and the fire and all that followed. Maybe it hadn't been real, maybe it had just _seemed_ real, so real that now he was disorientated. Deep down, as his mother holds him close for the first time in far too long, he knows it isn't, he knows that whatever this world is it isn't _his; _but he wants it to be. It's heartbreaking that his father died, yes, but everything else was he needed was here. His mother was alive and so was Jessica and he was living with Lisa – something he'd always wanted – and his brother was just a phone call away.

Not his world but a better one.

So he'd pretended, he'd kissed and held Lisa – something he hadn't done in years but he'd wanted to do – and he'd seen his mother and everything was perfect. And then he'd seen Sam, Sam who was distant, Sam who was not the brother he remembered, Sam who he was not close too. Sam even commented on it – and that broke his heart that moment Sam stopped him and asked him if something was wrong because he never treated him with so much familiarity. But even that seemed like it was just a little thing, nothing really, something that with time could be remedied. Sure they would never be as close as in the other world – he refuses to call it the real world because he somehow feels that when he does this one will just fade away – but it would be enough. So he'd laughed at the dinner, and he'd been so happy that Jessica and Sam would be together – and he'd wondered then briefly if he had ever asked Lisa or thought about it – and Lisa had squeezed his hand and shakes her head as if she was telling him that now was not the time. Dean was okay with that, mostly because he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

That's when he saw her, at the other side of the street, like a g_host. _

She was gone by the time he looked again and he told himself it was nothing, just a trick of the light.

(Not a girl that needed his help, not the reason he was here, not the distraction that caused him to be trapped by a Djin.)

That night Lisa and him laid on the couch together watching some silly program on TV.

"Listen, Dean, I know you wanted to tell your mom about the baby today on her birthday but I just didn't want to take away from Sam's moment you know. "

"No, of course, you're right. She'll be happy no matter when we tell her."

"Are you insane? She'll be thrilled."

She'd kissed him passionately then and got up.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"In a moment I want to check something first."

"Alright, but don't take too long."

"Never."

He's not sure why he hesitated, why he felt the need to check out the news but it was important. It was almost like there was a voice somewhere that sounded suspiciously like Sam's for that matter, telling him he should be searching for the truth, reminding him that something wasn't right. And so he'd felt, decided, realized that if he just saw the news and everything was normal that he could just go to bed and be happy. But then he'd seen the news broadcast about the plane crash and suddenly he'd started to search and it was all there, all the people he'd saved, all the people he'd met, everything was different.

He w_ants _this world, it's his happy place.

His mother is alive and Lisa is here and sure his relationship with his brother could be better but Jessica was alive and Sam was happy and that was all that mattered.

It should be all that mattered.

Except that Lucas drowns in the lake and those people in that small town still have to deal with a reaper and that little girl drowns in the hotel pool because there's nobody to save him. He never meets Ellen or Jo and Ash is always a mystery to him. He dials Bobby's number but there's no one there.

This world is wrong, this world is right, he can't decide and so he runs to his father.

Even though all there is, is a grave.

(But at least this grave is real.)

The girl is there, more suddenly, like a memory he can't quite remember, like a haunting that doesn't make sense. Sam looks at him as if he's lost his mind and Dean knows he sounds crazy, he knows that if he didn't know the truth he wouldn't believe it either and he can almost see Sam decide to call 911, to get him a doctor, to find out what is wrong with his big brother. But Dean is going to make everything better and somehow he knows that it doesn't matter if he doesn't because now that he's realized – and sadly enough accepted – that this isn't his world, that this world belongs to someone else that the world itself will somehow fade away.

It's the damn warehouse of course.

(He really shouldn't have gone alone but at least now he has a brother, one that he's close to, that will save him.)

And then they're crowding him, begging him to reconsider, to stay in this world, to forget the other one. Jessica – who had such a beautiful life ahead of her – who shouldn't have died in that fire, who only died because Sam wanted to have a normal life. And his brother begging for understanding and Lisa who he loves so much – he can feel it – telling him it will be alright and his mother touching his cheek.

But it's too late, he knows this now.

He doesn't look at Jessica, because though he's sad she's gone she didn't matter that much to him, and he ignores Sam and Lisa because he knows there's still in his world. Instead he drinks in his mother's face and the possibility of all she could have been.

And then he wakes to his brother franticly trying to wake him.

* * *

He tells Sam everything – everything except the fact that the girl was Lisa and she was pregnant – and his brother looks at him with eyes filled with understanding. And he does understand, Dean knows this, because he wants their mother to live just as much as he does, because he wants Jessica alive even more than Dean does. But there's nothing to it, Sam reminds him, this is their live and all those lives they saved are worth all the pain because that means that somewhere out there there are people that are happy and save because of them, because of _him. _

It still doesn't feel right.

But there's nothing he can do about that, because this is the live he's living and it's the only one he _can _live. He thinks of Lisa, in her own world far away, and he thinks about going to her, about trying to make at least part of his dream world real. Maybe she's moved on, maybe she hasn't but perhaps he should try to find out. His brother would love that, his brother would cheer him on but Dean doesn't tell him because he thinks it's too soon.

Instead he thinks: once Azazal has been dealt with and mom and Jessica have been avenged I'll go to Lisa.

I'll make it work.

* * *

The world feels colder somehow.

It should have stopped, it should be completely different but of course it isn't. Somewhere else, everywhere else, there are people whose lives just keep going on. Sammy's death – and Oh God he still can't believe his little brother is gone, still can't believe he managed to fail at the one thing his father asked him to do – didn't really change anyone's life but his and Bobby's. It never would because Sam didn't really matter to anyone but him and Bobby – of course Sam mattered to other people but not so much that everything would be different if he was dead.

And Dean couldn't deal with that.

Perhaps if Bobby had stayed or if he hadn't left his brother side, perhaps if Bobby had closed the doors and made sure he couldn't leave. But Dean doesn't think it would have mattered, he doesn't think anything would have been different. The idea to save Sam, to sell his soul to get his little brother back and get their lives back on track entered his mind and would never have left him, no matter how much time passed. And so he went, sold his soul and got a year to live in exchange. But everything was great, the world was right again and it was no longer cold.

Because Sammy was alive and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Despite the fact that he just had a year to live – or maybe _because _of it – he still wanted to go and see Lisa.

He tried to put it off, to ignore the feeling that he wanted (needed) to see her but he couldn't. He knew there was no chance of a happy life, that that future he'd dreamed about – at night or when he was on his own – was gone forever. Nothing could ever change that, even if she hadn't moved on, even if she had waited for him, even if she still wanted him it was all gone. He would never stay, even if she begged him too, because there was less than a year left and he could not, would not, do that to her. She was much to kind for him to hut her by staying with her knowing it would end too soon.

But he still wanted to see her.

If he only had a year to live – less actually because months had already passed – which was a fact he'd already accepted, even if his little brother seemed determined to change it, then he felt he deserved to feel a little better. And he wanted to see Lisa, if only for just one more time, because he wanted to feel happy and because she was the one thing he really wanted and the one thing he could actually (there were other things he wanted too of course but almost all of them, if not all of them, besides Lisa were all unreachable.) And so he'd convinced Sam to go to Lisa by making up a case – which didn't really work because well his little brother was smarter than that – and off they went. She still lived in the same neighborhood, in the same house and she still looked just as happy as she did back then. She looked slightly different but he suspected he did as well, years had passed after all. But for a moment it felt like it they were still young, like it still was years ago and this was the beginning of the story and not the end.

* * *

Whenever Lisa had imagined seeing Dean again somehow she'd always felt she'd know exactly what to say.

At least that was the way she would tell it to people, that if he came back – and sometimes she was sure he would someday show up again, while other times she was equally sure that he never would – she would know exactly what to do to make him stay. But when there was finally a knock on her door, and it in fact proved to be him, she hadn't known what to say beside his name. He looked just the same and yet he was not, he was older of course but somehow, he also looked sadder like something was troubling him. He smiled and told her he was passing through town and he'd thought of her, that his brother was looking for food but he'd thought he'd visit her.

(He didn't mention his father though she remembered he told her the man travelled with them. Perhaps that was, she thinks why looks so sad, perhaps something happened to his father.)

She invited him in – of course she did, no matter what she told herself or her friends, she always wanted him to come back and stay – but perhaps she should have told him about her son. The thing is she didn't really know how to approach the subject because Ben could be his and it would just be too awkward to bring it up now. So she'd let him come in and she'd told him about the party and she'd pointed out Ben and she'd hoped – though she knew it was an idle hope – that he wouldn't figure it out, that somehow he'd manage to miss the fact that the boy was just old enough to possibly (probably, hopefully though she wouldn't tell him this) be his. But he had figured it out and he'd asked her, he wasn't stupid after all, and she lied to him.

Even though she didn't know the truth, even though she'd always hoped it was his in the moment when she could have told him this – even without being sure – she lied.

She's not even sure why, not really, though she feels there are a million reasons why she decided to lie to him. A part of her was afraid, afraid that she'd imagined how good he really was, afraid that if he discovered he had a son – an older boy whose life he'd missed up until now – he would run away. Or worse that he would hate her for keeping it from him, even though she really had no way of finding him, no way of keeping in contact with him. She doesn't blame him for this, not even for a second, because it had been a decision of the both of them and she could have asked him to call her but she decided against it. And then there were his eyes, they looked so haunted, so lost and he looked afraid not to be a father, not to be Ben's father but afraid of something she could not understand.

So she'd lied because something deep inside told her it would be better for Ben.

(Because if she told Dean she had to tell Ben and something told him that it would just end up hurting all of them.)

But of course all of that happened after he saved her son.

Which really made him the best person in the world to her.

* * *

Sometimes he wonders which stories Chuck actually wrote down.

Which stories had he deemed important enough to write down and share with the world – again without their permission, something he doesn't think he'll ever forgive him for – and which he had deemed not important to the world at large. He supposes he could try to find out, the books are all out there after all, but he really can't be bothered. If he had to imagine it himself however he thinks, he's always thought, that not all their adventures would end up in the stories and something tells him that Lisa – and Sara for Sam – never made the cut because in the end they made very little difference to the story. Maybe Chuck didn't just not decide to send out certain parts of their lives, maybe he simply wasn't told those parts.

It doesn't matter.

When he thought of Lisa – in her beautiful house – he'd always imagined she would be happy and sometimes he even imagined her with another guy but somehow, no matter how much he thought about it – more than he would ever acknowledge really – he'd never actually imagined she had a child. Somehow that had never entered his mind but now that he knew, and now that he had seen her with her boy – who was wonderful – he couldn't imagine her as anything _but _a mother. And he was happy for her and the boy – even though for some reason there didn't really seem to be a father in the picture – but somehow it felt like he had missed out on something, perhaps even on the biggest opportunity of his life.

And then the boy had said something that made him think.

Because the thing is the boy, Ben, has just the right age to be his boy and if he has he has this feeling he has a right to know. He doesn't blame Lisa for not telling him – it's not like she could have, he'd never left her his number after all – but he does feel like he should know right now. He wanted the boy to be his, he wanted to claim a part of this life as his because he felt, somehow, that if this was true, if Ben was truly his that then it wouldn't matter that he was going to die in less than a year. Because if Ben was truly his son than somehow there would always be a part of him on this world no matter how long he'd be gone. At the same time however he didn't want the boy to be his, not because he didn't want him but because he was going to die in less than a year and that poor boy would be all alone again and this time he'd know the difference.

He couldn't tell Lisa the truth because if he did he knew he'd destroy that beautiful little life she'd build.

Which, as it turned out, wasn't that beautiful.

That's something; of course, he'd learned at a very young age – when his mother perished in that fire – that even the most beautiful and nice neighborhood and home could be infiltrated by monsters. And these monsters here have decided to kidnap children – and Dean has always, always hated it when monsters attack defenseless children – and they have now taken Ben and that well that went just a little too far. Because the truth is, and this is something he has only just realized, it doesn't matter if Ben is his – something he hasn't talked about with Sam yet and never actually will though he's not sure if his brother hasn't caught on – all that matters is the fact that Ben is Lisa's. And just for that Dean would love him, just for that Dean would always, always protect him more fiercely then he would protect anyone else.

But in the end though he needed saving he did not need protecting.

He was brave and good and kind and he was just the kind of boy he wanted as a son. And even if he wasn't his boy and if he wasn't dying of course he would still have loved him, still would have wanted to stay for him. But he _couldn't. _Lisa hugged him when he brought her son back and though it was the first time they'd actually been this close in years it almost felt like they'd never stopped being close.

He loved her.

He was _in_ love with her.

He loved her boy too.

He could be happy here.

But he could not stay, for that it was too late.

She wanted him to stay; she wanted them to be a family. And for a moment he imagined that, for a moment he imagined what it would feel like if he did stay, he would be happy for his last few months, there would be no monsters and no demons and he would be able to ignore everything. But he would know that it was just an illusion, he would know that there was an ending in sight and he wouldn't be able to tell her because he wouldn't be able to find the words to explain his anguish to her. He could stay, even for a while, but in the end he'd be leaving and then she would have to live for the rest of her life in grief with the knowledge that he was dead and so would that little boy. And he had been that boy, though younger, and he had lived with grief and it was never a good thing.

It would be better for them if he left, it would be better because then they could spend the rest of their live believing he was out there somewhere.

And so he told her he had to go and he had tried not looking back.

It didn't work.

* * *

The clock was ticking and time was running out for him.

Like he always knew it would. They had fought, valiantly, but he had known it wouldn't work, even if his little brother could not accept it. He had sold his soul and now it was time to pay; now it was time to go to hell and become a demon and perhaps someday he would meet a hunter and that hunter would try to kill him. He would be the one on the other side, no longer the hero, and nobody would know how or even why he had become a demon. Nobody would care to find out, nobody would ask him any questions, just like he would never ask anyone else.

He thinks of Bobby, who's not even here, who would feel guilty for leaving him alone.

He thinks of Ellen and Jo who would probably cry when they found out he'd died.

He thinks of Lisa and of Ben, in their beautiful house, who would forever be waiting for him, who might wonder, every time somebody knocked on the door if it was him.

He thinks of Sam who has to learn to go on alone.

And then there's the hellhound and there's pain and fear and loneliness.

And then, for just a second, there was nothing.


	4. Part 4

He wakes alone, disorientated and in a coffin.

That, probably, should have freaked him out more than it actually did but he had just woken up from 40 years in hell and there was not much left that could freak him out. Though, honestly, waking in his grave wasn't among his happiest memories and it might explain why he's now slightly claustrophobic. He doesn't think much when he crawls out of his grave, or more precisely he tries not to think too much, because he feels that were he to think about things right now his brain would explode. He doesn't know much either- actually he knows everything but he's trying to think without remembering hell which isn't that easy – just that he has to get to Sam or to Bobby. Which means first he must make it out of here. Later, much later – years later in fact when he accidently runs into the damn things again – he wonders what those books say about this moment. How did Chuck even begin to describe the pain, the disorientation and the fear? Were there even words to begin describing it? Was there even a way people who had not been to hell could understand? He'd been there, for longer than he cared to remember, and he didn't understand it so how could he even expect anyone else too?

(Maybe that is the real reason he hates those books and seriously dislikes those damn fans of Chuck's books. Because they think they know, they think they understand something they can't even begin too. )

He still doesn't know what Castiel said to him but he's not sure it matters.

He never asks him either.

He doesn't really think of Lisa until days later – after he's discovered that Castiel was an angel that had somehow, and he never fully understands how, saved him from hell. He still didn't fully understand why an angel had saved him nor did he believe he was really important but he did believe that Castiel believed this, which he supposes is just as important. When he finally does think of Lisa he imagines her in her beautiful home, in the garden sunning and drinking a refreshing drink while Ben played with his toys. It was the happiest scene he could think of and he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like to return to her, to be with them now that he was not dead. They would let him in their lives, they would love him but he's not sure that would be a good thing. He'd been in hell for 40 years after all, things had been done to him, and he had done things that were unexplainable and unacceptable especially for a good person like her. He was broken, beyond repair he thinks, and all he would do if he went to her was destroy her and Ben's live.

He could not do that to them.

* * *

Whoever uttered the phrase time heals _all _wounds was a complete idiot.

More than likely he had never actually been to hell – which was probable because if they had been to hell then they were now a demon and they would have better things to do than say things that don't really make sense. But whoever had said 'the show must go on' well that person was a genius, somewhat, and most than definitely right. There was no stopping time after all and the story wouldn't stop just because he couldn't deal – he was drowning in guilt and anger and memories of hell but the seals kept opening and the world kept turning even if he wanted to stop it. He'd learned this the hard way last year where he would have given anything for time to stop, even if it was just for a short time, but it never did.

Time went on, the story kept unfolding and now it included angels as well as demons.

And then there was, suddenly, a girl that could hear angels.

Anna Milton.

Pretty of course with long red hair and an easy smile and she'd looked so happy in that picture of her in her file. But when he saw her that first time, in the back of that church, she looked so sad and scared and alone and completely lost. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would feel like to hear angels, constantly, but somehow it must be terrible (or maybe considering the fact she turned out to be an angel it was somehow comforting even if she didn't really understand it at that point.) And she looked at him – _him _who hadn't been able to stand the pain of hell, who'd said yes and tortured so many souls he'd actually lost count – as if he was her savior, strong and good, as if he, somehow, would (could) protect her. She barely glanced at Sam, though, for what it was worth, she did not seem to care that the angels didn't like him, but she kept looking at _him_ for answers.

And he wanted to give them to her; he wanted to protect her from everything.

It wasn't an uncommon feeling, he'd felt it before, but it was somehow more powerful with her. Maybe because she was young and she'd lost everything, maybe because she could hear the angels and no matter what he said Dean actually trusted them, or maybe because she'd looked at him for answers even if he had none. She seemed nice and kind and he couldn't believe it, not at all, when Castiel said that they were there to kill her. She didn't understand it either – and he definitely didn't understand anything anymore especially not after she somehow managed to banish them – but she seemed so unafraid even though she must have been terrified.

But she still kept looking at him as if he had the answers.

Maybe he did and he just didn't know it.

Most likely however he didn't.

Bobby's house seemed like the logical, and really only place to go – and he has absolutely no idea why Cas doesn't guess they have gone there – and the panic room just the right place to hide Anna. Here's the truth he'd imagined almost everything could be the reason why the angels wanted to kill her – perhaps, he'd thought, it was just because she could hear them and that freaked them out especially if a demon got their hands on her and really he could understand if it was that and if it was he would have been able to talk them out of it by pointing out that just protecting her would be enough. The point is he'd imagined almost everything but what it actually turned out to be because her being an angel who had decided that becoming a human was the better idea – and really where the hell did she get _that _idea – well he'd never really considered that.

But it was what she turned out to be.

All they need is her grace, she says, and she seems incredibly reluctant to actually find it, like she doesn't want to be an angel again but she can just see no other way. Neither can he, for that matter, because if she stays the way she is she will end up in the demons clutches or she will be killed by the angels and he really, really doesn't want that to happen. He wants to protect her, to be the savior she clearly believed he was – and that was only, he knows, because she didn't know the full truth and if she, or Sam, were ever to discover it they would turn away from him just like he deserved – he wanted her to be that happy girl of that picture again. But of course she would never truly be again because that girl hadn't known about angels and demons and her parents had still lived and nothing he did would ever give her back the innocence she had lost.

But he still wanted to give it to her.

* * *

Even though her grace was no longer there he could somehow still feel it.

For the first time he woke in his grave he felt safe and at peace, even though he wasn't actually near her grace. Perhaps, most likely in fact, it was just his imagination, just his brain trying to give him some peace from his pain and memories. The tree was beautiful, more beautiful than anything else, but her grace was gone and somehow he knew that it was gone even before she said it, he suspects it was the look in her eyes. She looked torn, lost and for the first time he could see in her eyes that she didn't think he had the answers – which he never really had anyway.

Later, after she'd told him the angels were threatening to throw her back to hell, she'd looked guilty.

Like she wanted him to give her to them so he wouldn't have to go and here is the most horrible thing about him: he actually considered it. For just a second, when she'd spoken those words, his heart had practically stopped and he had been so scared that he had actually considered given her to them but then that moment was over and he realized he couldn't do that. No matter what it would cost him he couldn't just give Anna to the angels because he knew now that they would truly kill her and he knew why: because she'd dared to think for herself. (He still doesn't understand, despite her words, why exactly one would want to be human when one could be an angel, though after everything he's come to the conclusion that he wouldn't want to be an angel either.)

And then she'd told him she'd always known the truth and that she _knew _it wasn't his fault.

That he should stop blaming himself.

That he should forgive himself.

And even though he had heard other say it and he knew others would say it too and he knew Castiel had said it – though not in so many words – for the first time, a little part of him, actually considered she could be right. That perhaps there really was nothing he could do about it and he should try to forgive himself. And perhaps someday he would be able to but even though he'd listened to her and he'd believed her he still couldn't do it (perhaps with time she would have been able to truly convince him but time was the one thing they didn't have.) And then she'd kissed him and for truly the first time since hell he stopped thinking. And then Uriel had come to tell him to choose between his brother and Anna. And Uriel had known, of course he had, that there was no contest that he would always choose Sam (though, thankfully, he had somehow managed to miss their real plan which was probably good because otherwise it wouldn't have worked.)

But she doesn't know their plan either.

And even though she believes he's sold her out, that he's handed her over for her execution she still doesn't blame him, she still cares about him, she still kisses him goodbye because to her – and him – in that moment it's the most important one. And right before she stands before them ready to face her death she looks at him just the same way she did before: like he has all the answers, like he can help her, like he's her savior. (She never really stops; she always looks at him that way, no matter how much time passes. Even at the end, when she's suddenly different, she still looks at him like he can save her but like always he doesn't know _how.) _And then of course all hell breaks loose and they're all fighting and Alistair is going to kill them all and for a moment, just a second, he loses sight of her. Then her grace falls and shatters and light everywhere and just like that she's gone. And everything is different, everything is gone, because who she was and who she could have been and who they could have been is gone the moment the light hits. He knows that and she knows it too and he can feel it every time they interact after that.

He's sad but he's also happy because at least she's alive at the end.

Then she's gone and for the longest time he thinks she's truly dead this time but he doesn't dare ask Castiel because he doesn't want the angel to feel guilty. And then, in the middle of the apocalypse, she's suddenly back. She still looks the same – long red hair and beautiful eyes – but she's different, he can tell from their first interaction. It's her eyes really, they're haunted and sad and she's alone – more alone than she had been after her parents died – and she still looks to him for answers but she doesn't expect, not at all, that he can help her and she's right because he doesn't know what happened and thus he doesn't know how to change it.

And like before in a contest between her and his brother, his brother will always win.

She dies in the light, just like she was reborn in light, and he hates Michael and he likes him too. He wonders what it could have been like if he had met her in the world were they areboth normal, without the angels and the voices, perhaps they could have been happy. He wishes he could have helped her, saved her somehow and he genuinely mourns her even though he believes, honestly, that she died long before that moment, that she died when she was captured by the angels and somehow convinced – though he has no idea how and he thinks he doesn't really want to know – that this was the right path. She had died then he _knows _this. Because the Anna he met in that church, the Anna that had looked at him like he was a savior, the Anna that had loved him and forgiven him without a second's pause, the Anna that had faced her death with nothing but courage _that _Anna would never have considered doing this. And she would have been repulsed, angered, sad about whom she had become.

So he knows she died before that but it doesn't actually make him feel better.

* * *

He was so _tired_, he felt so _alone_ and he knew that Famine was right, he was empty and he could not win.

Never.

Saying yes to Michael was the wrong thing to do, he knew this, it was the most terrible thing he _could _do. It would mean giving up on himself and his beliefs, on Cas who had lost everything for him and on his brother who was searching for redemption. But he was so tired – and he knew there was never going to be enough sleep in one lifetime to make him feel better – and the guilt was overpowering and he was alone and empty and there was nothing anybody could do to make him feel better. He knew what Sam would say and Cas and Bobby if they knew what he was thinking and he knew they would try to help him if they knew just how bad he felt but he doesn't really think there is anybody alive that could truly help him; he also knows how the angels would react but the way they think isn't the right way. This is also the reason why he tries to figh the feeling of giving in because he knows it's wrong.

But it's all too much, he's alone and he's _done. _

Paula said it after all: would it be so bad if the human's went to heaven, to their paradise? He would never be able to convince Cas and Sam of this, he knows this, and he's not just going to give in. If he says yes, and he's leaning towards it, than he's going to have Michael promise – swear, like Castiel swore to Jimmy before him- to protect some people. Lisa and Ben and Bobby and any friends he still has left and Sam (so long he said no) and Castiel (and there would be no deal without this one.) He would do this but first, first he needed to say goodbye to Lisa. Last time he saw her he'd been dying and he hadn't said goodbye but it felt like it and after he came back he never considered going back but now he _has_ too.

He won't do it, this time, without saying goodbye.

So he sneaks away, to the world of the living, to her home – there where she'd lived years ago – but she's not there anymore. Luckily one of her old friends remembers him and she gives him the address of her new home – apparently Lisa had told her to do this if he ever did come back, like somehow she had known he someday would. She couldn't have of course, because back then he really couldn't have come back but she must have hoped for it. She's just as beautiful as he remembered her and just as kind. He has a million things he would like to say to her, a million things he wants to share but there is no time, not anymore, everything is lost now. Michael will protect her, because he won't say yes without his word, but after it is done he will never return here (because he knows, even though he's done fighting that it's the wrong thing to do and that in the end he won't be able to live with himself.)

But he still needs her to know it _would_ have been her.

She wants him to stay, to say goodbye to Ben – but if he does he knows he's never going to be able to leave again – but he refuses. She's crying, he suspects he himself is too, and there are a million things he wants to say and he tries to think of something incredibly powerful that she'll remember forever but he can't think of anything. All he can think of is goodbye and he wants to kiss her but he can't, he settles instead for giving her a kiss on her cheek.

And then he leaves and he believes in that moment that that is the end of the story.

She doesn't come after him.

That's probably a good thing.


	5. Part 5

Dean always comes when she least expects him to.

Like he knows, somehow, when to surprise her but she thinks, mostly, it's probably just because he himself doesn't know when he's showing up. The first time he came, filled with laughter and life and looking _happy, _had been the best gift at the time. He hadn't stayed and he'd looked sad and lost but he had still been there and still been him. The second time everything had been different not just the house she lived in but the way he was. He was tired and lost and sad, he looked, somehow, like the whole weight of the world was resting on his shoulders (and later, much later, she learned it actually was.) He's spoken of futures and happiness and she could see it in that moment the future he'd envisioned, she could see it because she too had dreamed of that future. But it didn't sound like a promise, just a hope, like a future that in another world and another life _might _have been but not in this one.

In this one, in that moment, it seemed like their story, which had been so promising in the beginning, would end there on her porch.

With a dream of a future and a promise she and Ben would be save and a simple goodbye, nothing more, and a kiss on her cheek. And then he was gone and though she'd wanted to stop him she'd known, somehow, that she couldn't, not just because she couldn't make her feet work but also because she couldn't shake the feeling that he was needed out there. So she'd just watched, stood on her porch and stared at the man she loved and watched him get in his car and drive away. She would never see him again, she truly believed it in that moment, this was the end and she would cry and she would grieve but she would never tell Ben. She would allow Ben to believe Dean was still out there because for all she knew he actually was.

The third time he came was the happiest moment of her live (after the birth of her son of course.)

He looked tired, more so than the last time, and lost and _broken _but he was alive and that was all that mattered. She hadn't even considered, not for a second, not letting him in. She knew it would be difficult that this man would need a lot of help but she wouldn't leave him out in the cold. He'd stepped inside but before she could close the door he'd hugged her and she'd allowed him to hold her close and he clung to her like she was keeping him from sinking and she thinks she probably was. She didn't ask him what had happened or what he had lost to save this world, she didn't ask him to tell her how she could help him she just let him hold her until he was ready to face Ben. Ben was so happy when he saw Dean but even he could tell something was different. But Dean, the man she loved, smiled at Ben and hugged him and assured him everything was alright.

And they'd sat down to have dinner and for a moment it felt like they were just a normal family.

She thinks that that's just what he needs.

* * *

The nights are the worst; they're filled with screams and the worst kind of nightmares and fears she doesn't understand.

(The days can sometimes be bad too but the nights, the nights can be terrifying.)

But this she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt: he was getting better, slowly, but he _was. _

That first week, actually those first two weeks, she hadn't asked him anything, she had known that something had happened, something bad and important. And whatever it was had scarred him and he had lost things that meant the world to him. He needed time to heal, time to feel better and so she'd said nothing in the beginning: nothing about the drinking, nothing about the fact that he'd practically drown himself in coffee just to stay awake. She'd allowed him to battle his demons on his own in the beginning because she could feel that that was what he needed, but she also knew he actually _couldn't _do it on his own. Yet despite the nightmares and the demons – and those nightmares could be truly horrifying, sometimes he just turned and tossed, other times he sat up suddenly and refused to go sleep, sometimes he'd mumble names (Jo and Ellen and Bobby and Sam and Cas and others too) and then there were the times that he'd _scream. _Those were the worst and they woke Ben too but Ben had learned not to come into the room anymore (not that Dean would hurt him but it was better if he didn't see it because than Dean would feel guilty.) Sometimes there was peace and sometimes his dreams seemed to turn from nightmares into nice dreams and she doesn't know how that happens but she does know someone does it and she is grateful to whoever it is that does it.

It doesn't really matter to her, all that matters is that he's wonderful with Ben and though she wishes he's the father he seems not to care, he loves Ben anyway.

But she was still going to ask him, after those first few weeks, to please stop drinking and talk to her.

In the end she didn't need to ask him, didn't need to waste time trying to figure out how to tell him this without making him feel bad. One day she came home after work to Dean getting rid of all the alcohol in the house – even the beer she drank. She'd asked him what he was doing and he'd turned to her and told her, with a sad look in his eyes, that many years ago after his mother died, his father would drown himself in alcohol. And that man he'd become when he was drinking had scared him, John had never hurt him but it had been enough to make him swear to himself that he would never do that, that he would do his best that, no matter what, he would _never _be like his father. And if he was staying – and he sounded so unsure in that moment like he was convinced that someday she would discover something about him that would make her want to throw him out but she _wouldn't _–then he needed to stop.

That night he'd slept peacefully without anyone's help which she considers a triumph.

(Before they went to sleep, when she laid her head on his chest, he told her that tomorrow they would talk.)

The next morning, after Ben had gone to school, he'd sat down and put a book in front of her entitled Supernatural and then he'd told her of Chuck the prophet. Who'd somehow, with the help of angels, had been able to see their whole life and had written stories about it. But he hadn't realized, not really, that those stories were the truth and so he'd published them so thousands of people could read them and talk about their lives as if they knew anything. He'd slid the book towards her then and he'd told her she would find everything in those books, the entire story from beginning to end. For a moment, a second, she was tempted to take the book (and all the others as well) because it would be the easiest way to hear the whole story. But the truth was – that though she wanted to know the full tale – she wanted _him _to tell her what he could even if it would never be the whole story.

So she'd pushed the book away and he'd looked both shocked and relieved (that was how she knew it was the right choice.)

"Dean, I don't need to read it. I don't _need _to know. But if you want to tell me, if you need to tell me I will listen."

He'd hugged her, suddenly, and he'd cried – and she'd wondered then if he ever had before that, she wondered if he had ever allowed himself to feel all his emotions – and she'd just allowed him too.

He cried for at least an hour.

* * *

Telling Lisa the story of his life was the hardest thing he had ever done.

It would have been easier, far easier, if she'd taken the books and read them but then it wouldn't have been the same. Because the truth was, no matter how she would look at him in the end, he felt that to be able to at least start to heal he would have to tell the story to somebody who was willing to listen. Somebody who, for the largest part, hadn't really been a part of the story, somebody who would not be able to know if he left something out.

He began with his mother and laughter and fun and the fire that destroyed it all.

He spoke of his father and hunting, of Meg and Azazal and Sam's death and his deal and the opening of the seals and the apocalypse. And she allowed him to talk, she never stopped him, never interrupted him. He talked for hours, he still doesn't know how long it was but he knows that Ben came home at some point and that he went upstairs and played video games (because he too knew this was important.) When he was finally done talking, when he'd told her of his little brother falling into hell with the devil himself, he felt empty and yet he felt great at the same time. He felt like the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders for the past few years finally became a little less.

He felt better and he knew it was the first step on his way to recovery.

* * *

The first time he laughed again, truly laughed, he'd stopped himself and he'd looked guilty as if laughing was somehow wrong.

She thinks she would feel that way too if many of friends had died and her sibling had thrown himself into hell to save the world. It was a part of the grieving process, she knows, that feeling that being happy was somehow wrong, that feeling that laughing would somehow be construed as a betrayal of those people he had lost. Lisa didn't really know them, not the friends he had lost not even the brother he had lost even though she had met him once. But she knew – because if they were friends and family of Dean than she knows they must have been good people – that they would have wanted him to be happy, that they wanted him to laugh and have the best life ever.

She didn't tell him this; she knew Dean would figure it out eventually.

(And he did, when he finally laughed without stopping himself and without looking guilty she knew everything would be alright.)

* * *

Their first holiday together was s_trange. _

Lisa wanted to go to Miami, to visit her sister, and Dean hadn't seen a reason for her not to go, though he hadn't really expected he would go too. The thing is he'd never really gone on holiday; sure he had gone on his own once back when he'd first met Lisa, but since then he'd never really gone. Most of his live he'd simply driven from town to town, saving people and hunting things. Even when he'd tried to relax – either with Sam or without – it had never really worked because there had always been _something _that destroyed their holiday (usually something that needed to be hunted.) The only time it had ever worked was back when he'd met Lisa and that was only because it had been done on purpose and he'd ignored signs.

But now, for the first time ever – or at least the first time he could remember – he was going on holiday.

To the beach, which was not something he would have ever considered doing but there you go, you can never truly know what you're going to do in your life. He'd loved it, he'd loved being with Lisa and playing with Ben and he'd even liked hanging out with Lisa's family. He'd decided then that when he got back home he would get a job and he would live his life just like Sam had wanted him too (he dreamed of Castiel that night who stood beside him on the beach and told him everything was going to be alright. He's not sure if it was just a dream or if was actually Cas.)

After they get back home Dean decides that on the first chance he gets he'll take Ben camping. He remembers – actually he doesn't _remember, _he only knows it happened because of a picture – that his father took him camping before Sammy was born and once when Sammy was about six and it almost felt like a rite of passage, like something every Winchester – and Ben was a Winchester in every way even if he wasn't really _his _– had to do once in his life. And truly it was something he too wanted to do, even if he knew it would hurt because he'd once done it with Sam (but that was okay, really, because he wanted to remember the good times even if it hurt.)

They go about three weeks later, he has the pictures to prove it.

* * *

One night he finally realized _what _he could do and how he could help Sam.

He wasn't sure if it would work of course but he needed to try, he needed to see if he could convince Castiel to help him find Death so he could talk to him. The man – can you actually call one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse a man? – was really the only one who could get Sam without releasing the devil and if he couldn't do it Dean figured nobody would be able to. Years ago when he'd stood over his little brother's body he'd been unable to deal with it, to such an extent that he'd sold his soul just so he could go on. And the thing was he still wanted to do that, he still wanted to find a way to bring Sam back to live but he also knew now that that was a bad idea. He could live with Sam being dead, even if it would be painful, but he could not live with his brother being tortured in hell for all of eternity.

So he was going to talk to death and convince him to help.

But first he needed to convince Castiel.

(Castiel told him he was crazy but he helped him nonetheless, Death told him he _could _help him but if he did it his brother would be dead; Perhaps, he told Dean, he should just wait two more months, than Gabriel would show up and he knew of a way to save Sam and make sure he didn't need to die. And so Dean waited, knowing that if Gabriel didn't show up he could go back to Death and have him get Sam. Two months later Gabriel finally showed up with the message that he could get Sam but it would take a while, in the end it took six months before he showed up with Sam. And Sam was broken and hurt and he needed time to heal but he was alive and that was enough.)

* * *

The day Sam looked at him and finally spoke again (it took a while) he asked Lisa to marry him.

She said yes, of course she did, and Dean married her in a beautiful ceremony with his brother as a best man and her sister as the maid of honor. Ben walked her down the aisle. Castiel was there too and there was something incredible about having an angel be there at your wedding (and someday, some far away day, he'd be the one to bless their little girl.) Here's something nobody should ever do: allow Gabriel the archangel to plan neither the bachelor party nor the wedding reception because it might seem like fun but it will always be too much.

But he needed to let Gabriel do something (the angel had saved his brother after all.)

There is a picture on the table in the living room now, of him and Lisa and Ben on their wedding day (in the background Gabriel is doing something incredibly ridiculous to Sam. Castiel is the one taking the picture for some reason.) It's perfect. There are still a million of stories that could be told, millions of different possibilities their lives could unfold and Dean learned a long time ago that things might not always turn out the way you'd want it to but at the moment everything was perfect.

And it this moment love was enough.


End file.
